Down to the Wire
by Cashmere67
Summary: "The feat of surviving is directly related to the capacity of the survivor."
1. Nemesis: Part One

**Ashra Cairne  
District Twelve Mentor, 28 Years Old  
Victor of the 99th Hunger Games.**

* * *

Celosia stands up, the pitchfork now plunged deep into the boy's chest.

She managed to disarm him, taking it for her own. The boy from Nine lies there, and before Celosia even has a second to breathe, the girl from One makes her way through the large bushes. She runs right at Celosia, catching her off guard, tackling her to the ground.

"That's my girl!" The mentor from District One, Leonora, comments. She leans over the table, banging her fist down on it, rattling the glasses beside her. "Kill her."

Back on the screen, Celosia flips over on her back, looking right up into the girl from One's eyes. The girl from One tries to pin Celosia down, but she fights back, managing to get her hand underneath the girl's chin. She pushes upwards, making the girl throw herself to the side, giving Celosia enough time to get up.

I bring the glass to my lips, tilting it back slowly, feeling the cold liquid rush down my throat. It's just another year – another year of false hope. A year that maybe, just _maybe_, District Twelve could bring home another victor. I've seen it before.

District Twelve surprisingly gets a tribute in the finale.

Then, they die. It's what District Twelve is used to now.

Celosia and the girl from One face each other now, a snarl on both of their faces.

And, for the first time since Celosia entered the arena, I become tense.

I grip my fingers around the cup tightly, my hands shaking as the girl from District One side-swipes her knife. Celosia dodges it, spinning back around, bringing her hand around the girl's neck.

The girl from One lets out a growl, and Celosia does what I never thought she'd have it in her to do again. She slips out her knife, swiping it upwards. It slices the girl from One's back open, and she falls forward, taking Celosia with her. With one more swipe of her arm, Celosia slices the back of the girl's neck.

Celosia's hands become bloody.

The girl slumps to the ground, the blood pouring out from her arms, her back, and her neck. It pools around her, and Celosia takes a step back, and I avert my eyes from the screen, avoiding making any eye-contact with Leonora or Thane.

Thane grips Leonora's shoulder with his hand, but Leonora forcefully pushes him away, and as she slides herself back in her chair, she stands up. The twin mentors from Two, Arick and Ryker, hold their hands up in the air, stepping away from Leonora.

Back on the screen, Celosia is hovering over the girl, the knife still in her hands, the blood spreading out in all directions. Then, when Celosia's victory is announced on the screen, it goes black. The screen goes black, and the room…

It goes silent.

Leonora stares at me, her jaw shifting, her facial expression contorting into something more sinister. More envious. She storms over towards me, and I stand my ground, pushing myself up out of my chair, disregarding the sudden rush of blood to my head.

I don't think drinking all of that was the best idea I could have done.

I didn't think mentoring Celosia would be a good idea, either, and look where that's gotten me.

"Are you proud?" Leonora comes at me, shouting. My legs tremble, and I press my hand against the table, holding all of my weight in my one arm. "District Twelve _finally _brought home another victor. What does that make it now? Two?"

"Two is right," Thane adds from behind her, still in the background with Arick and Ryker. Seina from District Four gets up from the table, going back to the counter with her empty glass. "Don't forget the dead ones, though. If we're counting those, it's about three."

"Three!" Leonora exclaims, throwing her hair back. Her blonde hair drapes down her back, and she shimmies her shoulder, snapping her head back up. "One committed suicide. One died in the Seventieth-Hunger Games. And the last one… What was her name again?"

I lift up my hand and stare directly at her.

_It isn't worth it, _I think, trying to rationalize with myself. _She's just upset her tribute didn't win. She's just jealous._

"Oh, right! It's Katniss Everdeen," Leonora drawls, emphasizing each syllable in her name. "Burnt alive during the Victor's Purge. District Twelve is _truly _an honorable District. They all died for a cause."

I snort, shaking my head, and Leonora purses her lips together.

"A cause!" I sneer, pointing a finger out at her. My legs begin to shake once more, but I focus on Leonora, holding my finger out further. I take a deep breath before speaking again, the drinks already in effect. "I hope you die for a cause, Leonora."

"I don't plan on dying. But, you…," she says, leaning forward, the snarl on her face. "Keep on drinking that shit, Ashra. See where that gets you."

"Why don't you come over here and see where it will get _you_?"

She ignores my taunt.

"You'll die just like the rest of them," Leonora drawls, giving her fellow Career-mentors a glance. Surprisingly, none of them entertain her; they simply sit there, staring. "You know, the one who committed suicide and the one who died in that Quarter Quell? Oh, and we most certainly cannot forget the Mockingjay herself."

"Don't," I snap, feeling myself tense up. "Do _not _mention Katniss. Or Haymitch. Or Arthur."

Leonora throws her head back again, flustered by the situation. She turns away, stampeding out the door. Thane the twins from Two follow her, while Seina stays back at the counter, and so does the girl from District Three. She hasn't said or done much, except for sitting there with a smirk on her face.

When I look at her, she raises an eyebrow.

"Did you enjoy the show?" I say, falling back into my seat. I lean my head on my fist, closing my eyes, and when I hear footsteps coming my way, I open my eyes. In front of me, the mentor from Three stands there, arms crossed over her chest.

"Not as entertaining as Celosia's winning kill," she says, taking a seat across from me. She taps her finger on the table, the bartender immediately coming over with a glass. "I'm Allonia, by the way. Victor of the hundred and first Hunger Games."

"Ashra," I reply, closing my eyes again. I hear her take a sip from her glass, and as she places it back on the table, she chuckles. "What's funny?"

"I remember killing the girl from One in my Games," she says, and I open my eyes, raising an eyebrow. "And the boy from Two, the boy from Three, the girl from Seven, and the boy from Eleven."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow."

As we sit there, I find myself drifting off, not wanting to run off to the nearest hovercraft and fly to Celosia. I'll see her eventually, and when I'll do, I'll thank her. I'll thank her for taking this… This responsibility out of my hands.

I won't have to do this anymore.

She will.

She will now the burden of mentoring placed on her.

Not me.

Now, District Twelve will blame _her_. They won't blame _me_.

It won't be _my_ fault anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A sixth SYOT by the one and only, the fantastic, the prestigious – Cashmere67.

Amazing, isn't it? My addiction to this website and my inability to pry myself away from it? Yeah, it is.

Either way, I assume everyone knows the deal by now: The form is on the profile, spots are not allowed to be reserved and it is open submissions so submit as many as you want/to whatever District you want, and if you have any other questions just PM me.

I don't believe in deadlines. I'll close when I feel like I should and when I have a good set of tributes.

On a side-note, though: Please, please, please be aware that Career spots aren't easy to get. A lot of people submit to those specific Districts, but honestly, I'm flexible with my time-frame and what Districts train tributes and whatnot. So, Careers don't necessarily have to be One, Two, and Four. It is the 110th Hunger Games, after all. Be creative.

I just want to make it easier for everyone, since this really isn't canon anymore.

So, do send in some tributes. I look forward to seeing who submits and what kinds of tributes I receive this time around.

(Oh, and, do not be alarmed if I update this story and there's no second chapter. I like to re-update it a few days after I post it to get more tributes and whatnot.)


	2. Nemesis: Part Two

**Celosia Deverell  
District Twelve Victor, 17 Years Old  
Victor of the 109****th**** Hunger Games.**

* * *

Leonora stood up and tapped her finger on her glass.

The room got silent, and Celosia slowly turned her head, placing her cup down on the table. Allonia glanced at her, smirking, and from the corner of her eye, Celosia could see the gesture. She suppressed laugher, though, and faced forward.

Leonora stepped up to the podium, holding her glass in the air.

"Welcome, ladies," she said, nodding her head curtly. "I'm glad you could all make it today."

Leonora glanced around the room, smiling at a few certain individuals in the room, while the rest simply received a scowl or a blank stare. She winked at Seina, waved her nimble fingers at Naima, and she gave a small smile out of pity to Cailen. Allonia received one of those blank stares, looking right past her and directly at Celosia.

When Leonora made eye-contact with Celosia, she scowled. She was clearly angry, but Celosia shifted her eyes, letting Leonora continue with her heartwarming speech. Allonia chuckled, but once again, Celosia didn't want to acknowledge it.

Leonora might not have liked Celosia, but Celosia didn't want to stoop down to her level and entertain it. Celosia was better than that.

"It brings a tear to my eye," Leonora continued, her voice teetering on melodramatic. Leonora always did love the attention, anyway, and knew how to direct it onto herself. "Just knowing that you all took the time out of your day to join me at my home. I want to thank you."

Allonia snickered and Celosia shifted in her seat. Leonora didn't really want them there, but it was a formality. The two of them had to show up or else they'd be criticized by the public-eye. The Capitol wanted the victors to seem well-knit – they wanted them to have a relationship with one another.

And that's where Leonora came in; she had a small get-together of recent female victors, just like past District One victors had done. At that point, it was a formality. It was one that all female victors had to attend eventually.

Celosia sucked it up and went grudgingly. She knew that when Ashra won, she didn't attend the party that Affinity organized. Perhaps that's why Ashra's so hated among District One. _Or, maybe,_ Celosia thought, _it was just her bad attitude._

Celosia thought the latter was more reasonable.

Leonora finished up her speech, raising her glass, gesturing for the Avoxes to go around with more beverages and food platters. Celosia shook her head as one passed her, while Allonia dug right in. Celosia simply sat there, watching her fellow victors.

Cailen from Eleven sat there, smiling. Her smile, though, showed a little too much teeth. The corners of her lips trembled as she smiled, and she spoke through gritted teeth, making sure to maintain that smile. Everyone looked at her and instantly knew she was trying too hard.

Trying too hard to impress them all. To make sure people thought she was stable. That she was okay.

And then there was Leonora from One who just didn't try enough. She said what she wanted, rolled her eyes as she pleased, and cut off any conversation that she didn't find interesting. Perhaps she was just overcompensating.

She felt like she had something to prove. After her losing her sister, she always felt like that.

Once again, Leonora and Celosia made eye-contact. It was an awkward exchange, only lasting a few seconds, but once Leonora snarled from all the way across the room, Celosia raised an eyebrow. Really, Celosia didn't know what she had done to receive such animosity from Leonora.

Celosia's only logical explanation was be Ashra.

Somehow – in some way – Ashra caused this tension between District One and District Twelve.

Even so, Celosia didn't resent Ashra. She didn't even hate her.

In a way, she empathized with her, especially because of Ashra's recent decisions. She understood why she didn't want to mentor anymore – why she took that heavy burden right off her own shoulders and placed it on Celosia.

Celosia preferred the idea of mentoring than becoming a recluse and isolating herself from the world, anyway. At least then she would have a chance to help someone else. She could save someone else.

She just didn't understand why Ashra was so self-centered. Nearly every year, District Twelve loses two tributes, and yet, Ashra seem unfazed by it. She seemed apathetic. That's the only part Celosia couldn't wrap her head around; why didn't Ashra care?

Celosia did care, though.

She cared a little too much.

* * *

**District One**

Male: Lincoln Talher, 18.

Female: Bronte Avellar, 18.

**District Two**

Male: Priscus Ervani, 18.

Female: Sasha Clarelle, 18.

**District Three**

Male: Porter Moreau, 16.

Female: Vaida Kiper, 18.

**District Four**

Male: Luran Tremain, 18.

Female: Caia Verdone, 18.

**District Five**

Male: Kelvin Rhyolite, 17.

Female: Daelyn Allaire, 17.

**District Six **

Male: Denton Irving, 17.

Female: Felicity Lynch, 14.

**District Seven**

Male: Axton Ivers, 18.

Female: Aisling Ibarra, 17.

**District Eight**

Male: Ellis Linell, 15.

Female: Charis Arville, 16.

**District Nine**

Male: Troy Westbrook, 17.

Female: Fiora Mavelle, 17.

**District Ten**

Male: Shepmore Terrance, 12.

Female: Linley Bonnet, 17.

**District Eleven**

Male: Damien Novak, 18.

Female: Lenina Rosetti, 18.

**District Twelve**

Male: Axel Rogue, 18.

Female: Adela Lavari, 17.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I always feel uncomfortable when writing these notes after closing submissions and accepting tributes. Is uncomfortable the word? Probably not. Is guilty? Sure.

I received a lot of submissions (really, the most I ever have – even more than SAS!), and let me tell you, it was not easy to pick twenty-four out of all of them. It required a lot of thought and decision-making. I wanted to balance out the mix of tributes I have and have a variety.

So, if you were accepted, congratulations, but if not, I apologize. Don't hate me, hoho.

Oh, obviously, I switched to Third-Person. I'm fickle.

Well, here are the two blogs (tribute and victor, respectively):

w w w. downtothewirehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

Some questions, yeah?

_Who stood out from the tribute blog? Any early favorites? Any early least-favorites?_

I believe that is it. That's it from me until then.

Enjoy and review, xo.


	3. Reapings: Part One

w w w. downtothewirehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Daelyn Allaire  
District Five Female, 17 Years Old  
Pre-Reapings.**

* * *

Daelyn heard someone walking through her house.

She thought it was her mother, though, and stayed where she was. She went back to staring out the window, watching the people walk by, all of them about to go to work. She heard someone call her name, but she didn't reply, staring absent-mindedly out the window.

"Are you ignoring me on purpose?" The voice said, right behind her now. She snapped out of her trance, turning around to see Dace, her boyfriend. She leaped up, jumped into his arms, and laughed. "What was all of that about?"

"Sorry," she said, giggling, rubbing her face into his jacket. "You know how I get distracted."

"Yeah, I do," he replied, intertwining his fingers with hers and leading her to the couch. They sat there, with Dace staring at the ground and Daelyn staring at the side of his face. "So, what's up?"

Daelyn faltered at his comment. She averted her eyes, seeing the look in his face. She thought he only said what he did to fill the air with noise, because there was a lull in conversation. She thought she did something wrong.

Daelyn desperately tried to fix the situation.

"I'm good!" She exclaimed, smiling widely and brightly. She began to shake her leg, glancing around the room to see if anyone else is there. She was hoping someone would be, but she didn't quite know who. "What about you?"

"Just tired," he said, titling his neck to the side to crack it. "Got work soon, too."

"Oh," she replied, sinking into herself. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to walk her to the reaping. Dace stood up, and although she wanted him to stay, Daelyn didn't protest. "I'll see you after, right?"

Dace nodded his head and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her in, and Daelyn nestled her head to get comfortable. Dace glanced at the clock, tapped his foot, and although he had to go, he let Daelyn wrap her arms tightly around her. Daelyn was always the more affectionate one, while Dace always got red in the face whenever Daelyn wanted a hug or a kiss.

She always needed that physical contact. She needed it just to make sure that he was always there. A simple hand-graze used to work for her, but as their relationship progressed, it got worse. She needed to feel him.

It made her feel like he actually likes her.

Daelyn stood up on her heels, leaning her head up forwards, Dace and her making eye-contact. Dace grinned, and Daelyn giggled, whispering to him. Dace pecked her on the lips, but Daelyn pulled him back in, wanting a longer, more intimate kiss.

It seemed nothing was ever enough for her. It always had to be more than what she was given.

Dace laughed, and they hugged one last time, and as Dace turned around, Daelyn grabbed his hand. Dace began to walk out, and Daelyn's fingers trailed on his, wanting to rush back into his arms. He turned the corner, and when the door slammed shut, Daelyn looked around the room. She noticed that she was alone.

There was no Dace. Her cat wasn't even there.

Her mother might have been upstairs, but Daelyn felt alone. Like Dace abandoned her. Daelyn took a step back, fell backwards into the couch, and curled up her knees. She looked off into different directions, trying to make herself get distracted.

When she saw Ingrid slowly creep in, Daelyn jumped up, scooping her up in her hands. She petted Ingrid down her back, and the cat purred, making Daelyn smiled. At least with Ingrid Daelyn felt appreciated. She put her back down on the ground, leaning back in the chair, hearing her mother come down the stairs.

Daelyn perked up at the sound, completely forgetting about Dace leaving her and about Ingrid. She focused on her mother now, and she rushed into the kitchen, seeing her preparing their breakfast for the morning. Her mother looked at her, poured herself a cup of coffee and said, "Good morning, dear."

"Good morning!" Daelyn said eagerly, looking past her mother to see if her father was coming down the stairs. She was disappointed when the room fell silent, and she anticipated some more footsteps, but nothing happened. Daelyn sighed.

Despite everything their relationship has gone through, Daelyn still wanted him there. She still wanted him to talk to her. To love her like a father should. Her father might have been absent for most of her life, but that didn't make her love him any less. It might have made their interactions awkward and distant, but Daelyn wasn't going to give up on her father.

Her father had seemingly given up on her, though, and she didn't quite understand why.

It confused her.

Everything did.

"Did Dace stop by?" Her mother asked, sliding a cup down the counter to Daelyn. Daelyn picked it up, pouring herself her own cup of juice. Daelyn found it ironic that her mother would even ask; her mother rarely ever approved of any of the boys she brought home. "I thought I heard his voice."

"Yep," Daelyn replied, taking a seat down at the table. Her mother stayed at the counter, though, reading the morning paper. It might have been trivial, but Daelyn wanted her mother to sit with her. She wanted to be closer to her.

Daelyn never did like distance.

Her mother glanced at her watch, and when she noticed the time, she began to rush, picking up her bag and frantically running around the house to find her workbook. Daelyn knew that she was going to be late, but she didn't want to say anything because she didn't want her to leave.

She didn't want her to leave like her father did.

He was always at work. He was always gone.

Her mother ran down the stairs, waving her hand and shouting goodbye to Daelyn. Today knew that work would only last a few hours today because it's the Reaping Day, but that didn't make her feel any better. Now, both of her parents were gone and so was Dace. Even her cat was gone.

Daelyn slouched back in her seat, swirling the liquid around in her cup. She kept thinking about her father and mother, but mostly about Dace. Her mother didn't approve of him, and her father had no idea he even existed. Daelyn did, though. She loved him – or so she said.

She didn't even know what love meant. She thought it meant spending time with someone you have feelings for. Someone you like being around and someone that you kiss and hug. She loved her father, yes, and she loved her mother, yes, so she figured she loved Dace, too.

She loved anyone that was in her life.

She loved anyone that liked her.

And Daelyn just wanted to be liked.

Why was that so hard?

Why couldn't people just like her? Why couldn't they accept her?

Daelyn didn't understand it.

As much as she thought about it – about what she's doing wrong, about if what she says and acts and behaves is not proper and somehow turns people away – she still had no answer. She didn't understand it. She didn't see what was wrong with her.

She just wanted to be liked.

And she wouldn't stop until she was. She wouldn't calm down. She wouldn't feel relieved or calm.

Dace wasn't enough and she knew it. He couldn't fill the void in her life; he couldn't replace her father. He couldn'

Daelyn wouldn't any less lonely until someone liked her.

Until someone was there for her.

She wanted someone all to herself.

For her and for her only.

* * *

**Kelvin Rhyolite  
District Five Male, 17 Years Old  
Reapings.**

* * *

Kelvin watched people with a crooked grin and a raised eyebrow.

A girl walked past him. She was petite, with blonde hair that rolled down her back in curls to about her waist. She giggled as she spun around her father's finger, and when the father caught Kelvin staring, she pulled her in close and they continued walking down the street.

Kelvin laughed. Then, he sighed.

_It's people like her that give this place a bad name, _he thought to himself, nodding his head as he looked to find his next victim. This time, it was a boy, about the same height as he was. He was carrying a large wooden box, and he turned the corner, approaching someone's front door.

He knocked and then left the box on their front-stoop.

At this, though, Kelvin felt proud. It's people-helping-people that inspired him, that made Kelvin yearn for more. The boy walked away, and Kelvin jumped off his chair, following him towards the center of the District for the reaping.

Kelvin nodded his head the whole way there, watching people. He would observe everyone that walked by him, eying them up and down. He eventually found his place in the crowd of teenage boys his own age, and he shimmied through, standing firmly.

Being surrounded by the citizens of District Five made him feel good about himself.

He was very proud of District Five.

Sure, it might have had its flaws – the incessant revving of engines, the thick layer of smog that covered the sky, the stench of a power plant – but, it was still his home. He liked mostly everybody in the District; emphasis on _mostly_.

District Five was full of people who Kelvin didn't deem intellectually superior. To him, District Five was the District of innovation. Of creativity and of productivity. Here, they produced energy for the whole country. Everyone here had that certain glint in their eye, a glint of ingenuity and of ingenious.

Kelvin fit right into this stereotype.

As a child, Kelvin studied data on the Districts. He saw that the Careers received the most money and aid from the Capitol, while the Districts of Eleven and Twelve received nearly nothing. He picked up on this pattern, and once he saw the data regarding District Five, he felt disappointed. He felt downright disrespected.

Did the Capitol not see everything District Five does for them?

Did the Capitol not appreciate the District that produces their power and electricity as much as Kelvin did?

Kelvin knew in that moment that he would try to make a difference. He wanted to show the Capitol that District Five is up to par with the Career Districts; that they are just as essential to this country as every other District. Kelvin realized the disparity in how the Districts are treated and he wanted to change it.

And, to him, that could be done through winning.

Then, everyone would notice him. Everyone would see his own individuality, his own intellect, his own brilliance. If he were to win, they would have to be respected. His parents always taught him to give back to the District, anyway. They might have given money to the District to support charities and orphanages, but Kelvin wanted to do more.

He wanted to win for them.

Not for himself, but for his District.

Kelvin ignored all the chatter around him, choosing to distance himself from it. He simply stood there, focusing on himself only. He thought his thoughts, minded his own business, and prepared himself. When he saw the escort take her first step onto the stage, Kelvin's heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

Behind the escort, a video began to play, and Kelvin looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. It was petty, sure, but Kelvin didn't want to show the Capitol any respect. He didn't want to stand there, watching a film that they made. If they can't respect District Five what it's worth, why should he respect them?

Why would they expect to be treated differently than how they treat him?

Kelvin had a point to prove.

The video finished up and the escort made her way towards the female's bowl, and Kelvin looked back and forth, trying to see where the best way down to the stage would be. He wanted to be up there immediately just to be safe; District Five lately has had several volunteers. None of them have won, though, but Kelvin wanted to change that.

He wanted to win. He wanted to show that District Five is capable.

"Ladies first!" The escort called out, picking up a card. She opened it and the read name aloud, saying, "Daelyn Allaire."

A small, tanned girl stepped into the aisle, immediately looking around the boy's section. She glanced over it, scanning for that certain someone, but once a Peacekeeper stepped forward, she kept walking. Still, though, she glanced over her shoulder, just looking for someone. Anyone.

Kelvin noticed that she appeared strong. That she wasn't crying or screaming or refusing to go up like some people do. She stared forward, keeping her body motionless and her face expressionless.

Once Daelyn took her place on the stage, Kelvin knew it was time. He stepped to the side, resting his hand on his hip, and once the escort took out a card from the boy's bowl, Kelvin rushed into the aisle before she could read the name aloud.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Kelvin exclaimed, choosing his words carefully. He knew that this would be the first impression the Capitol would have, so he wanted to make sure they noticed him. That they remembered him. "I am Kelvin Rhyolite and I volunteer to represent District Five in this year's Hunger Games."

"Very well," the escort said, and Kelvin walked passed her, taking his spot next to Daelyn. Daelyn stared up at him, and Kelvin looked forwards, locking eye-contact with anyone that looked at him. He wanted them to remember him; he wanted to remember all their faces as well.

The look on their faces is what made him feel determined. It made him want to fight. To win.

He wanted to win for them.

He wanted to win for District Five.

* * *

**Axel Rogue  
District Twelve Male, 18 Years Old  
Reapings.**

* * *

Axel stared out the window, a sullen expression on his face.

He blinked as two white birds darted passed through the window, and his eyes trailed after them, and once they disappeared behind the adjacent building, he looked away. He looked away, snickering and rolling his eyes, and then he silenced himself, turning back to face the window.

This was his life – the cycle of living in District Twelve. He would stare out the window, and in those rare instances, the ones where he clung onto some false hope of a brighter future, he snickered and rolled his eyes. Then, he went back to staring out a window.

_That _was his life.

The one he detested. The one he wanted to run away from.

The one that would soon be changed forever.

But, everything is fleeting, after all. None of that mattered; nothing did. As Axel stood up, he landed gently on his heels, making sure not to creak the floorboards as he took his first step down the hallway. Down the dark, gloomy hallway that still didn't feel like home to him.

Nothing would. Not after his father ruined it for him.

Axel walked down the staircase, the silence seeming second-nature to him. His mother was sitting on the wooden rocking chair, just like she had always done, still not saying a word. She was silent as always. Axel contemplated poking his head into the small room, to check up on her, but he paused, inhaling deeply.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

There was no point.

He'd just be disappointed, anyway. She wouldn't respond. She wouldn't look back at him. She'd just sit there in complete silence, breathing and rocking on that chair.

Axel chose to not get involved and opened the door, stepping through it and closing it behind him. Outside, the sun was high up the sky, and he closed his eyes, adjusting to the light. Voices came from both sides of the street, and he opened his eyes, watching the young children and their parents walk past him.

The parents had their children latched onto their hips, patting their delicate heads with their hands. Axel continued down the street, taking his time to walk past each home and glance through the front windows, observing a real family in their normal habitat.

He almost felt jealous.

He wanted that feeling again. He wanted a normal family. He knew, though, that that was impossible. Without his father and brother, nothing would be the same again. And, after today, it would all change once again.

For Axel. For his mother.

For all of District Twelve.

At the end of the road was the stage where the Reaping would take place. Lights and cameras hung from platforms and extension cables, all facing the stage, where the escort was already preparing her speech. A screen came down before her, and slowly, Axel took his place in the crowd. He walked past every one, staring right through them and acting as if he was the only one there.

As if he was the only one who could see him.

And, when that one curious soul did greet him, Axel stared. Axel could not dignify this encounter with a response, realizing that there was no point. There was no point in anything; especially not some formality. Him and this boy were classmates and nothing more than that.

To Axel, they were all disillusioned.

None of them understand their place in Panem and District Twelve. In his life, too. No one seemed to grasp Axel's detachment and isolation from everyone around him. Except Axel, that is. He was more than aware of the choices he's made regarding people and his life.

And he hated himself for it.

"Welcome, District Twelve!" The escort boomed into the microphone once the video behind her about the Dark Days and the Hunger Games, as well as the recent Rebellion, was over. She tapped it, gathering everyone's attention, and as Axel stared blankly at her, almost unaware of what he was about to do.

He had it planned for quite some time, though, and he became accustomed to the idea.

"Ladies first!" The escort said, dipping her hand into the female's bowl. For a mere second, Axel was intrigued to see who would be the female to represent District Twelve. But, as the escort called the girl's name, he moved on. He wasn't interested anymore. "Adela Lavari."

Axel heard the sounds coming from behind him, but he chose to ignore it. Adela shakily walked to the front of the crowd, her hands trembling around the railing as she walked up the make-shift staircase. She managed to form a thin smile on her face, and when the escort patted her on the shoulder and walked towards the male's bowl, Axel finally looked forwards.

He felt calm and composed.

He didn't see the point in hesitating.

"I volunteer."

The crowd went silent. The escort stared back at him, her hand not even making it into the bowl before he said it aloud. Adela stood there, too, still shaking as she wrapped her hands over one another. Axel walked down the aisle, keeping his arms at this side with his fists opened.

"And what's your name, dear?" The escort said, reaching out a hand for Axel to grabbed, but he respectfully shook his head and made it onto the stage by himself.

"Axel Rogue."

"Well, Alex," she said, watching him take his place next to Adela. Adela eyed him from the corner of her eye, and her thin smile grew, a twinkle appearing in her eye. "I'm glad you decided to join us!"

Axel snickered.

And, then, he rolled his eyes.

"There you have it, District Twelve!" She said, throwing her arms out, gesturing towards Axel and Adela. Adela showed a genuine smile now, while Axel stood there, remaining composed. He didn't want to convey emotion for the people watching him.

He didn't even have any emotion in him to show.

All he had was his hollow self, the one who had just volunteered. The one who was risking his own life for some greater purpose. But, to Axel, what was there to risk? What was he really going to give up from going into the Hunger Games? Death was inevitable. Everything would come to an end at some point in his life.

And, maybe, sooner than later would be better.

_Or not, _he thought. _Maybe I can prolong it just for a little bit longer._

Axel saw the Games as unpredictable. He didn't what they had in store for him, or what would come of them. He could win. He could die. Either way, he would have been in a better situation than what he was in.

If he died, it would all be over.

If he won, things would change. He needed change – change in surroundings. Change in himself.

Axel wanted to feel; he wanted to feel anything, whether it was a negative or positive emotion. Regret, perhaps, from volunteering. Or, maybe, he'd feel determined for the Hunger Games. He just wanted to feel – it's as simple as that, but it meant more to him than anyone could realize.

Axel didn't volunteer to simply volunteer. He didn't win to reap the benefits – money, fame, fortune.

Axel wanted to live.

He wanted to make things better. He wanted to fix himself.

He wanted to escape.

* * *

**Denton Irving  
District Six Male, 17 Years Old  
Goodbyes.**

* * *

When the Peacekeeper reached to grab his arm, Denton pulled himself away.

He continued up the stairs on his own, refusing to let the Peacekeeper help him. He chuckled as he heard them slowly following him up the steps, and at one point, he turned to look at them. He kept his mouth shut, though. He knew better than to start something right now.

They had guns.

He has… Well, he had nothing except a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to say something, but he knew he'd get in trouble. Denton turned back around, rolling his neck and shrugging his shoulders. He'd have his time eventually to show the Capitol what he truly thinks of them.

In District Six, he'd still get in trouble for speaking out against the Capitol. But, in the Capitol, they can't do much to him. They're already sending him into an arena where he'll have to live longer than twenty-three others, so really, what's worse than that?

Denton didn't have an answer.

All he knew is that he thought the Games were unfair. That they were having the opposite effect on the country; every year, they simply reopen the wounds that were still present from the Dark Days and the most recent Rebellion. The Hunger Games were helping nobody.

They were making everything worse.

Denton stopped in front of the door, and the two Peacekeepers stepped to the side, and when Denton walked inside, they shut the door behind him. He paced around the room, leaning a few books from the shelf forward, just reading the cover of it. Then, when he got bored, he sat down on the couch and kicked up his feet.

Denton was going to enjoy himself. He was going to make the best of it.

He might have been angry, but at this point, there was nothing to be angry for. There was nothing he could do; he was reaped, and now, he had no choice but to go to the Capitol. He would have to fight. He would have to kill. If he wanted to survive, he would have to play along with the Capitol's games, but that didn't mean Denton wouldn't do it without adding his own style to it.

He was going to win in any way that he wanted to do. He would act however he wanted. He would do whatever he wanted. That's one thing he promised himself: To not let the Capitol restrict him. He was still Denton Irving, after all.

Denton's first visitors were his parents and his little sister.

His father, Antonio, walked in, his face as expressionless as ever. Denton expected it, but he did hope that maybe today his father would dig out some emotion to express his grief. Even if it was artificial, it would have been something. But, his father stood there, letting his mother walk in, who was already in complete hysterics.

"Denton!" She said, throwing her arms out, draping herself over him. Denton hugged his mother back, patting her on the back, and when he saw Cynthia scamper in through the door, he then hugged her. His father still stood there, though, which didn't surprise Denton once again. "I can't… I can't believe it was you. Out of everyone…"

"Sh," Denton whispered into his mother's ear, realizing that it probably won't comfort her. Nothing will. "I'll be okay, mom. I promise."

Cynthia stared up at him, and Denton kneeled down, clasping his hands around her shoulder. He gave her a little shake, and she stared at him with her beady eyes, too young to understand anything. She knew he was leaving, but Cynthia wasn't completely aware of the Hunger Games just yet.

"It's just a short trip," Denton told her. "I'll be back soon."

Cynthia nodded her head, hugged him, and ran back to her mother. Cynthia thought he was coming back for sure, and so did Denton. Neither of them took into consideration that he could die. That he might not come back home to District Six.

Denton's father held out his hand, and Denton firmly grasped it, giving it a good shake. Denton grinned as he did it, wrapping his other hand around his father's. Antonio's lip twitched, and he opened his mouth, yet said nothing. He had nothing to say, except, "Don't let us down, Denton."

"I won't," Denton replied, letting go of his father's hands. "I promised mom. I can't break that promise."

His family gathered around him, with his mother and sister giving him one last hug each. His mother was still weeping, and she clung onto Cynthia, hoping that she would never be reaped. She focused on Denton again, blowing him a kiss before being escorted out by the Peacekeeper.

Denton watched the door close and once he was alone again, he shrugged his shoulders. The door soon opened again, revealing his friend, Obadiah. He walked forwards, and the two embraced, performing their own handshake that Denton always found comical. That is one thing he would miss while in the Capitol.

"Of all people," Obadiah said, laughing. Denton laughed, too, but he wasn't sure at what. "I bet it was rigged. The Capitol was probably just sick of all the shit you stir up here."

"If that's so, then why did Felicity get reaped?" Denton joked back. "What do you think she did?"

"I don't know, man," Obadiah said, giving Denton a light push. "Don't worry about her."

Denton didn't plan on it. He didn't plan on caring about anyone, really.

Just himself.

"It's all about me, huh?" Denton said, and the two of them laughed once again. It always was about Denton – to him, at least. "I can deal with that."

"Of course you can."

Obadiah glanced over his shoulder as there was a knock on the door. They embraced one last time, performing their handshake again. Denton waved to him as he left the room, and when the door closed this time, Denton sat down. He was becoming impatient and he just wanted to leave.

There was no point in wasting any time.

The sooner he got there, the sooner it will all be over.

The sooner he'd become victor.

Denton was going to become victor on his own terms.

He never did let anyone tell him what to do or how to act.

He did his own thing. He was himself.

And nothing could change that.

Not even the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hi.

I feel as if I change my format in every SYOT… (I do. I know I do, okay.) But, here you go! The first part of the two Reapings chapters. So, there will be one more of these and then we will go into the Train Rides (4 POvs in that.) You'll see how I formatted it eventually.

So, what do you think? How are these tributes? Who was your favorite? Least favorite?

I'll try to have the next chapter out within a week, so I'll see you all then!


	4. teddy

**Author's Note:**

This not a summary. Not even remotely close to one.

I just got lazy. You only know four tributes, anyway, so it wouldn't make sense for me to do a summary. So, on the blog will be training scores/alliances/deaths.

Will I get banned for posting an author's note as a chapter? Yes, probably.

And, now, for my concluding statement. I really do hate to say it, but this is the final chapter that I will upload to Fanfiction. This is the final anything I'll upload to Fanfiction. I really have been denying it and avoiding it, but I've come to conclusion with myself that I'm ready to quit FF.

Yes, I mean officially quit. No more stories, tributes, reviews – whatever else being on FF entails. Writing this sounds extremely dramatic, but it's time to say what I have to, huh? I've been in this gray area lately, where I wasn't sure if it was a phase or a lull in interest or if I really wanted to quit FF.

When I say this, I'm not even kidding – FF has been one of the best experiences of my life. I have met some of the best people on the internet (I can't even name them all. It went beyond the few names I had on my profile and I've made really good friendships and relationships with people.)

This all sucks, but I don't have time for it. I don't have interest in it anymore, too, which sucks as well. FF just isn't the same anymore; I can't bring myself to read or write, or do anything else, really. I've moved on, if you will. I had a phase last summer too where I didn't write for a while, but I can't see myself getting out of this phase this time. The circumstances are different.

I'm graduating soon, and these are my last few months here before I go off to college, and honestly, I want to make the most of it. I, quite frankly, don't want to sit on my computer and do whatever. Even in college, I'm not sure this is what I'd want to be doing, either. I'm not knocking anyone for wanting to write Fanfiction or do whatever, but it just isn't for me.

Is that rude? Probably. I'm just sentimental and don't want to waste my "Senior Summer" in my room, you know? (Perhaps my party tendencies are getting the best of me, too, but that's another problem for another day.)

So, yeah, I guess that's really it. Seriously, I hate that I am quitting, but it's what feels right. I'm really glad I did join four years ago (I still can't believe it's been four years. The people on here, man. I'm emotionless and a bitch but when I say they are some of the best friends I have ever had, I mean it.) This has changed my life in ways I really can't explain. It even made me realize that I do not want to become an author, so there's that, hoho.

Eh.

This is it, Fanfiction. Cashmere67 signing out.

Don't miss me too much ;).


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